


Refuge

by BlackhurstManor



Series: WoW: The Resurrectionists [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, For the Alliance!, Gilneas, Overthrow all monarchies but kings are hot, Porn With Plot, Refugees, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Worgen, World of Warcraft: Cataclysm, nsfw warcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackhurstManor/pseuds/BlackhurstManor
Summary: The story of Gilneas's fall is one of tragedy upon tragedy, and well-documented. The story of the Gilneans' flight from their homeland into the arms of the Kaldorei is less well known. Numbered among the last of the refugees to leave Gilneas, Lady Veronica Blackhurst had only begun to count all the things the Horde had stolen from her and her people since the Forsaken invasion began. Even in a ship with hundreds of her fellow refugees, she was alone.Were it not, perhaps, for King Greymane.
Relationships: Genn Greymane & Original Female Character(s)
Series: WoW: The Resurrectionists [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774015
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Refuge

Lady Veronica Blackhurst stood portside on the Kaldorei blockade runner, shoulder to shoulder with her fellow Gilneans. Keel Harbor receded from view behind them, and the dozens of people shouldering in around her wanted the same thing she did: some final glimpse of whoever or whatever they were leaving behind for good.

War did not comply with their desires. What was not swallowed by the smoke and clamor of muskets and cannons was consumed by the pre-dawn mist. The lone exception was Blackhurst Manor, a stark black cut-out standing sentinel over a hopeless battle.

The wolf in Veronica was, for the first time in weeks, stunned to silence. She supposed that was the closest it could get to mourning, and so be it. Raging here -- on a ship full of frightened people, not a few of them freshly cursed themselves -- would be tragedy compounded on tragedy.

The Elun’serrar was the last of several Kaldorei ships to flee Gilneas, the one held back until every civilian the nation’s defenders could find had been safely boarded. Because of its stature as the last holdout, among its hundreds of civilians several of the nation’s most valiant defenders numbered among them. Veronica was one, dressed in black leather and chainmail, her rifle strapped at her shoulder. Members of the Greyguard and of Crowley’s rebellion also stood vigil, arms at the ready. Among their number, one loomed larger than the rest: Genn Greymane, King of Gilneas, and likely the last man who would ever hold that title. Queen Mia and Princess Tess had been forcibly shoved onto a Kaldorei ship two days previous, leaving Genn and the last few fools to command the final defense before their departure.

 _Well, not everyone_ , Veronica thought, standing 10 feet away from Greymane with just as many civilians shoved between them.

Some had stayed behind, with full understanding that no one else was coming for them. Euphemia, Veronica’s twin, had insisted on fortifying Blackhurst Manor and commanding the last defense so the Elun’serrar could flee in safety.

“You cannot win this fight,” Veronica had said.

“And yet it must be fought,” Effie said.

They had hugged and held each other in stillness as Gilneas’s last few hundred civilians swarmed around them, knowing it would be the last time. Even over the din of panicked hundreds, the Blackhursts could hear Forsaken commanders barking orders at the head of their incoming legions.

The war that came to Gilneas had taken her parents and her home, and now it would take her sister, too.

Fog, smoke and mist swallowed Gilneas, and in time even the spires of Blackhurst Manor disappeared from view. The shellshocked mob around Veronica became aware of its own closeness and began to jostle for space. Veronica herself was bumped against the rail of the ship. She clung there and waited for dispersal.

To her right, a thin, 60-something man wearing little but rags was shoved forcibly into King Greymane’s back. Tall as the ragged man was, in the shadow of the king – somehow still resplendent, even here in the ashes of his failures – loomed over him. The mob grew still.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Highness,” the man said quietly, head bowed, with a feeble gesture to the mob by way of explanation.

Greymane rested one heavy hand on the man’s shoulder.

“You look tired,” Greymane said, quiet enough Veronica barely heard it. “Use my quarters to wash up and rest. Join the others when you’re ready.”

The man muttered his thanks and disappeared into the mob. Greymane and Veronica both stood still as the crowd dispersed, and it was perhaps that stillness that brought their gazes together. He was as shaken as she, and both were only beginning to come to terms with the loss they would feel; but in this moment they were simply two proud people sharing a moment of mute camaraderie.

The thought brought warmth to her scalp and cheeks. It was flattering for him to look at her this way. Flattering, and vindicating. As a minor noble in Gilneas she had of course visited the Court since she was a girl. When she had assumed the title of the Reliquare, an ancient honorific for the Blackhurst firstborn of every generation charged with the direct protection of their people, he was present for the ceremony. As she learned diplomacy, she had naturally stayed in his orbit along with all the others. But for all that, she’d always felt like a silly little girl in his presence. He’d fought and commanded in wars; built the Wall; crushed a rebellion. What had she done but play at palace intrigue and bed a few married Lords for sport?

He had seen her many times before all this ruin, but she doubted very much he had truly ever _seen_ her.

Then came the Cataclysm, and the invasion. The Horde seemed bent on nothing less but the complete eradication of Gilneas and its people, driven by the sadism of its commander, Sylvanas Windrunner. Just the thought of the Banshee Queen’s lusty joy for wanton destruction woke the wolf in Veronica’s breast.

She had killed Prince Liam in front of them both. Before Liam dove in front of the arrow meant for Genn’s heart, she very much doubted the king knew how quietly and desperately in love she was with his son. But in the minutes and hours that followed, Veronica had stepped forward and become instrumental in the strategic retreat from Gilneas. And she sensed that he knew -- somehow -- that her dedication had as much to do with her grief over Liam as it did her devotion to GIlneas.

Despite the distance of station, it seemed there were a great many things they shared.

“Lady Blackhurst,” he said, eyes on the horizon.

“Your HIghness,” she responded.

“Genn,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Veronica,” she replied, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself.

They looked at each other then, a King and a Lady of the Court, two people who shared something other than the pain of loss and a curse burning in their hearts.

Genn held her gaze a moment longer before regarding the Kaldorei crew and Gilnean civilians on deck. Veronica found herself easing a little; when the King looked right at her, she’d squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and sucked in a breath. Fellow veterans they may be, but she still felt an obligation to impress.

“It’s not lost on me, the role your family played,” he said calmly. So calmly you wouldn’t think he was overseeing the ruination of the lands that were his to protect. “Nor what you’re leaving behind. Your sister Euphemia, of course, and Lady Josephine -- ?”

“Mother died in defense of Keel Harbor two nights ago,” Veronica said, far more calmly than she felt. Without knowing why, she added: “We made time to bury her properly.”

“Ah,” Genn said, his serene composure darkening as he drew inward. “That’s good, then. A proper funeral is important.”

The memory seized her: the Greymane family and Veronica’s own, and a few scattered nobles and companions, gathered around the grave they’d made for Liam in Aderic’s Repose. Veronica had loved Liam, but Euphemia truly had his heart. Together, the sisters had laid the spirits of the Repose to rest so Liam’s remains could join their ranks. Thus their invitation to his funeral had been secured.

 _He and I really do keep running into each other,_ she thought _._

She cleared her throat, and he snapped out of his sinking reverie.

“What is the plan from here?” She knew well the answer, but sometimes found a recitation of steps could ease the mind. Perhaps that was also true of him.

“The Kaldorei and Gilnean fleets will meet at Darnassus,” he said, falling into the confident cadence of leadership. “We will assess our numbers then. The work will take two fronts from there: the comfortable resettlement of our people, and the coordination of our remaining forces with the Alliance’s army and navy.”

“To strike back?”

“To come home again,” Genn said, gripping the rail and watching the horizon they were fleeing. “No matter what it takes.”

Genn retreated into himself again, and Veronica took that moment to stare at him in a way she’d never dared while standing this close. His bearded jaw was set grimly, and his ice blue eyes flashed with some of the raging monster inside him, begging to be let free. He was tall, and broad in the shoulders, and even in this moment of absolute ruin his air of nobility was indefatigable. He was old enough to be her father, but there was a vitality to him that outstripped men half his age. If anything, age had refined the fire it smothered in so many others.

“We will need you,” he said quietly, and Veronica let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Pardon?”

“Heroes who lead from the front,” he said, and looked at her. Into her. _Through_ her. “The salvation of our people lies in its leaders.”

“I’m -- I’m flattered, and I’m certain any number of the remaining nobles -- “

“I don’t give a damn about titles,” he said flatly, pinning her in place with the intensity of his gaze. She found herself believing him. “I have seen you fight through a curse, I have seen you fight through grief, and I have seen you slay the Horde’s undead by the dozen, with arrows sticking out of your back in a city choked with Blight. I have seen all those things, and I have never seen you falter. There is iron in your blood, Veronica. I truly believe Gilneas has produced the exact woman this moment calls for, and you are she.”

As he spoke, her world had gotten smaller; the excited tones of the dozens working around them had faded to nothing, and the cannon fire of distant Gilneas was lost in the rising throb of her beating heart.

She could see the woman he was describing taking form as he spoke. She wanted to be that woman. For Gilneas. For Liam. For her family. For these lost souls all around them.

 _And for my king,_ she thought, not flinching from the challenge in his stare.

She opened her mouth to speak -- to answer his charge -- when the _thump_ of cannon fire broke through their shared spell. The energy of people around them filled in and colored with panic, and far above, a Kaldorei in the crow’s nest pointed starboard. Veronica didn’t know the words he spoke, but the intent was clear.

“Forsaken,” Genn intoned gravely, as another _thump_ of cannon fire was chased by the splash of water across the deck, kicked up in its wake. “Come to finish the job.”

Veronica followed Genn to starboard and saw them: six Forsaken vessels dotted across the horizon, charging the Elun’serrar and its two companion ships with cannons raging and Blightfire burning. They would soon be overtaken.

Fury rippled through Veronica, fury at the intrusion on even _this_ moment. She had gone months -- years? -- with no true sense of rest, and even here, now, she would not be afforded peace. None of them would be.

So be it.

She locked eyes with Genn.

“Your rifle, it still fires?”

She nodded once, pulling Stormcrow from her shoulder and checking its chamber.

“Then to arms, Lady Blackhurst. Gilneas needs us.”

Once more, Lady Veronica Blackhurst followed her king into battle.

**Author's Note:**

> Next: the last ships of Gilneans fight for their lives, and Veronica and Genn's newly forged bond is anointed in blood.


End file.
